


Locked Away

by orphan_account



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 22:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Discontinued. AU from the end of The Crocodile. The mining cart isn't stopped in time, leaving Belle lost in a new world with no memories to help her navigate it. Meanwhile, Gold searches for a way out of Storybrooke, Neal Cassady tries to find a way in, and August hates that he's going to fix things. Eventual Rumbelle, Neal/Emma, pirates, and other side characters and pairings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Moe French was not the best of men, he knew that, and seemingly a good portion of Storybrooke knew that, but as the Sheriff grabbed his arm and lead him down the winding stairs of the mine shaft he really only had one comfort- that he had hopefully delayed them long enough, and that by doing so his Belle would be crossing the line that would get her away from that wretched beast. It wasn't the ideal situation, he knew that, but having his lands invaded by ogres hadn't been ideal. Watching his men being slaughtered by them hadn't been ideal. Giving up his only child to that disgusting, vile imp of a man hadn't been ideal. And being cursed, beaten, and yet again separated from his daughter had been far from ideal.

But it was his only option. A desperate man wanting something out of desperation. Belle wouldn't be safe with him, not with that monster going about town- ready to pounce and bribe and beat anyone who'd take away his…his property. No. Belle wouldn't want that. His Belle wouldn't stand for her missing person signs being pulled down, her life being dictated by a horrid creature that would almost kill a man for a bloody teacup. She was bewitched, cursed just like the rest of this town. And the only way of freeing her from that, of letting her get to have her own life, away from that thing was pushing her over the border. He could make that hard decision, Moe couldn't maybe be the decent man, but he could at least be the decent father.

His eyes trained on the back of Gold's neck. Everything about the man spoke of the monster lying carefully hidden underneath. The gold teeth, the limp, that cane. If this was anyone's fault, it was his. Belle had been bewitched, Moe reminded himself as his fist curled tight. This was her only chance. The only way that she could be free of the horrible debt that Moe had placed on her and whatever spell that bastard had placed on his beautiful little girl.

They couldn't stop the cart. Moe wouldn't let them. Belle had to get out of Storybrooke and be free to have whatever adventure she wanted to have. Away from the father that had failed her and the monster he had sold her to.

"You said the rail was close?" The Sheriff asked, his grip not as tight on Moe's arm as it could've been.

Moe's face soured. The fisted hand began to have its knuckles cracked.

The Sheriff, at least, had the decency to look sympathetic. Gold had yet to turn his back as he kept charging the mines after the wolf girl.

"You won't get her. She has to leave town," Moe muttered, meeting the Sheriff's eyes. "You have a daughter. Don't you understand?"

The former Prince pressed his lips into a thin line, "I know that I'd want my daughter to make her own decision. Please, Moe. If you love Belle…you'll let us know where she is."

Moe inhaled sharply. "You couldn't possibly understand what it's like! I haven't seen her in over thirty years because of that-!"

"Mr. French, I promise, I know exactly what you're going through," the Sheriff cut him off, "But this isn't the right way to do things, and I think you know it."

Moe opened his mouth to reply, but was beaten to it by the wolf girl.

"She's close, I can smell her-"

No. No no no no. Moe couldn't think of anything but his daughter's face as she bravely accepted her fate all those years ago, and the way that Gold's face had looked almost relieved- relieved! – that they were so close to Belle's location. It turned his stomach and his heart thudded violently in his chest. No. Not again.

Moe ripped his arm out of the Sheriff's grasp, swinging violently and catching the former prince by surprise. Hardly a slight man, he charged at the monster next.

"You won't get her!" He snarled, grabbing the man's cane away from him and aiming another punch at the back of Gold's head.

Moe's attempts were blocked as Gold turned around, teeth bared in that way that made it impossible to forget his former life as the Dark One. He stumbled, slightly, but his hand outstretched and Moe saw just the faintest flicker of purple before he was hurled against the cavern's wall.

"You miserable idiot-!" Gold snarled, about to descend on him again with a wave of magic, before the wolf girl grabbed his arm mid-cast. Moe allowed himself a sigh of relief, but it was cut short by the prince lifting him up and slamming him against the wall again.

"Not called for," was all the prince could manage as he spit out some blood, shaking his head. "Ruby! Take Gold and try and stop the cart- I'll watch Moe."

Gold snarled, "And expose our backs again? Not likely."

The wolf girl, Ruby, eyed Moe then Gold before speaking levelly, "What's more important, Gold? Belle or beating her father?" The unspoken "again" weighed heavily in the passage.

The beast hesitated, only slightly, before pointing a threatening finger at him, "We're not done here, French."

Moe spat, "You won't find her. Not in time. She's free of you."

Ruby cast him a wary look before sprinting down the passage, Gold staggering behind her quickly.

The former Lord of the Marchlands could only laugh.

"She's free of you, beast! You won't get her again!"

III

The sun was bright as it hit the backs of her closed eyelids, and it was with slow movements that she lifted her hand to her brow, trying to shield it back. Her gaze flickered open, and she groaned.

Where…where was she?

She tried to stand, as something was digging into her back, but the distinct force of something tying her other hand down kept her stationary. Her eyes darted to the strange chain cuffed around her wrist, the other end attached to the metal cart.

She swallowed, licking her lips and trying to remember what she was doing out here, out of her room…certainly…this hadn't been where she was meant to be? She was dangerous, that's what the nurse had said. Dangerous unless sedated. Dangerous to the public.

That was why she had been kept in the room all those years. And now…Now she was outside of that room, and the sun hurt her eyes.

Bracing herself, she planted a foot- and why on earth was she wearing these shoes? – on either side of her, trying to use the leverage to at least get her in a stance that wasn't the strange, almost fetal position she currently found herself in. Had she been hiding? From what, exactly? Nothing about the wooded area seemed particularly dangerous. Not when she was the one the nurse said needed to be locked away.

She turned her head, trying to look around, to get some sort of picture of her surroundings. To the front of her there was nothing but forest, but behind…

The mouth of the cave was dark, and she stared into it intensely. Something about it was frightening, the sharp edges of it and the solitary rail lining…she had obviously come from there.

What had happened to the hospital. How was she outside?

She swallowed, and for a moment, fear laced within her.

Maybe she wasn't supposed to be outside.

Maybe…she had fled?

But how?

And why couldn't she remember leaving? What if-

"You look like you could use some help."

She froze, heart thudding in her chest as she turned back to face the woods. A man stood there, his brown hair mussed and some sort of hat under the crook of his arm. Behind him was…a machine. It roared slightly, though it appeared to not be moving.

"I didn't! I didn't mean to leave…I mean, I don't remember going-!"

The man stared at her, then the cave, and a small smile appeared on his features that she thought looked sad.

"I believe you." He leaned down towards the cart. "Would you like some help getting out?"

Dumbfounded, and still trying to realize where she was and why she was there, the woman could only nod.

"Alright. Don't move."

She nodded, watching as the man went to the machine, opened a satchel, and returned with something silver in his hand. He lifted her arm, turning it over to inspect the chain that bound her to the cart.

"Easy enough," he smiled again, and this time it had more teeth and less sorrow, "Give me a minute."

She watched as he took out what looked like a pin and began to insert it into the lock of the chain, swearing in frustration.

"Been some time since I had to do this last," he muttered apologetically, removing one of the leather gloves that covered his hands and trying again.

He worked in silence, and she watched him warily as something clicked, the chain slithering loose and pilling on the floor of the cart with a heavy thunk.

"Thank you," she whispered, rubbing her sore wrist.

"Don't mention it," he replied with a shrug, offering a hand out of the cart.

The woman stared at him for a few moments before taking it. He pulled her out as if she weighed nothing.

"You know, it's not every day that a girl leaves Storybrooke in cuffs," he said light-heartedly, but she only felt apprehensive, again rubbing her wrist.

"I promise, I didn't mean to leave…"

He held up his hands, "Well, I meant to. And I'm not here to cast any stones." He eyed her critically, "What's your name?"

She frowned, "It's-"

"BELLE!"

The yell came from the entrance to the cave, and she spun around- terror sinking in her heart again. She had been caught. The nurse had sent the orderly after her.

"BELLE!"

She took a deep breath, backing away as carefully as she could with the impractical shoes she found herself in as she surveyed the people who had come to take her back.

A man stood at the lip of the stones, just behind where the tracks hit the sun. She didn't think she had seen him before in the hospital. He was older, perhaps in his late forties, and his light brown hair was streaked with gray. The suit frightened her most, however. A suit could only mean one thing.

"Belle, listen to me! You need to come back!" His eyes were wide, almost pleading. He was afraid of her. Afraid that she had left the dark room.

The woman backed away a few more steps, grabbing the mysterious man's jacket sleeve. The cave scared her. The yelling man scared her.

The dark scared her.

"I. I can't." She whispered, her voice hoarse. As if she had been screaming. Had she been screaming? She couldn't remember.

The mysterious man who had helped her looked down, "Is he bothering you?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, "I don't know."

"BELLE!"

He wasn't moving towards her. He was screaming, yelling with desperation but he wouldn't take a step closer to her. Had she been that terrible? Was she that threatening? She didn't feel threatening. She only felt…

Free.

"I can't go back there."

The mysterious man nodded, side-eying the man who was becoming more and more unhinged. They seemed to know each other. He seemed to dislike the man who was screaming. "Let's go, then. I can get you to the nearest town."

She nodded, not knowing why. There was something about the man who wouldn't step out into the sun that was bothering her. Something that made her want to run far, far away.

Something in his eyes.

The mysterious man handed her the strange hat he had been carrying. "Put it on."

Numbly, she did, surprised by its weight.

"I don't know why Gold wants you so bad, but a little distance never hurt anything. Hop on and we'll figure it out."

She stared at the machine, feeling her heart pound in her chest again. She had never seen such a thing, but the mysterious man walked in front of her, effortlessly sitting on it and patting a spot near the back with the hand that had remained gloved.

A…a horse, of some kind? Maybe.

The woman settled in after him, squeezing her eyes shut as the sound of the man screaming became louder and more pained. She couldn't turn back. She had to…

She had to be brave.

The mysterious man kicked something, and the machine roared. She startled, instinctively gripping the leather of the seat harsher.

The mysterious man chuckled, "Don't worry. It doesn't bite," he looked back at the cave, almost guiltily, before turning to face her. "What's your name?"

She wondered why he asked that. The man who wouldn't move kept yelling it at them.

"Belle."

"Belle. Let's get some room between us and them, what do you say?"

She nodded, taking a deep breath, "What's yours?"

"My what?"

"Your…name?"

He hesitated, looking down in a way that seemed guilty. He cleared his throat, "You can call me August."

Belle gave a pathetic, terrified attempt at a smile, "Thank you, August."

"Don't thank me yet. Ready?"

"BELLE GET BACK HERE AT ONCE-!"

She winced, slamming her eyes shut yet again and forcing herself not to hear. It was a trick. The man's pain was a trick and a way to sedate her, to keep her "docile". She couldn't. Not when the sun was shining and only just starting not to sting her eyes.

"…Yes."

The horse-like contraption roared to life, and Belle continued to close her eyes and pretend the sound of the man screaming her name didn't make her feel even more lost than she had felt upon waking up.


	2. Whole New World

**Chapter One: Whole New World**

The cup was so _warm_! It was all she could think as she cupped her hands around it again, feeling the heat from the old ceramic mug seep through to her palms, a distorted and pale reflection of her face portrayed in the murky brown water.

"What is this called, again?" She asked, curious stare darting up to the man sitting across from her.

His eyebrows rose, leaning back slightly in the booth, "Coffee."

"It's incredible!" Belle turned moved it again, still staring in. There was almost an oily sheen to it.

He chuckled with a bemused note of humor, "You haven't had any yet."

Belle licked her lips, shifting the cup to a different angle this time, "I'm working up to it."

August could only shake his head, taking his own mug and sipping from it, eyes still trained on this strange, strange woman.

He knew who she was, of course. The Book had been in his possession long enough for him to take more than a cursory glance at the other stories it contained, and the tale of Beauty and the Dark One was something he took particular interest in. And also, led to the inspiration of his Baelfire façade, as poorly thought out as that one had managed to be. But what didn't make sense to August was how the heroine, the one so brave and selfless in the story, managed to be running from her true love and completely mesmerized by a mug of Folger's all at the same time.

"Alright," Belle muttered, lifting the mug up with both hands. August noticed just the slightest hint of a pinkie sticking out but decided to refrain from commenting, "Here I go."

"Good luck."

She nodded, oddly grim as she lifted the edge of the mug to her lips. A short, small sip was taken and August couldn't help the laugh that escaped as her fascinated expression quickly morphed into that of horror.

"That's awful!" She rubbed the back of her hand against her lips, as if to physically scourge the taste from memory, "How are you drinking yours?"

"Practice," he said, punctuating his claim with a low, melodramatic swallow of Colombian House.

She smiled at that, but her eyes quickly darted away, and not for the first time. August had been watching her watch everything else, and the way she was reacting to everything from the vinyl of the booths to the flickering fluorescence of the lights made him think that this was her first venture out, well, anywhere. There was something…off about the Dark One's beauty, not that he was all surprised. Poor girl more than likely had her wits addled with overexposure to Rumplestiltskin's company.

That was the easier explanation, anyways.

August kept going back and forth as to whether he wanted the hard one or to leave her here and continue his merry way. He did, after all, have an appointment of sorts to make.

"So." It was an easy enough start. Maybe she'd give him the option without realizing it.

"So?" She repeated, eyes returning back to him with an apologetic expression. She was almost…over stimulated? August didn't know what to call her uneasy mannerisms; only that it reminded him of a rabbit that suddenly had a very big flashlight pointed at it.

"Being handcuffed to a mining cart isn't really the best way to spend an afternoon."

Belle froze, the coffee mug setting down on the table with an audibly sharp click, "I…"

"You?"

She shook her head, "I know this will sound…odd, but I have no idea how I got there."

That was interesting. "Or why Gold was screaming after you?"

A wince crossed her features, "No, that one I know."

Quickly, August's mind went to the probable outcomes. Option 1, Gold kept his girlfriend very, very isolated from the rest of the town and this was her big break. Option 2, Belle was still cursed, somehow, and had evaded the death sentence that usually accompanied leaving Storybrooke. Option 3, Belle had committed some kind of crime, hence the handcuffs, and punishment was a curse being left to rot at the town's border.

That one might have been the more melodramatic of the three, admittedly. Option 4-

"Do you know him?" Belle's voice cut away from the more imaginative of his theories, and August turned his attention back towards her.

"Know who?"

"That man? The one who…The one who was trying to take me back there?"

Okay. Now the situation was quickly sliding from confusing but interesting to completely not worth the hassle or time on August's part. She seemed sweet enough, but August wasn't in this for curses and their unfortunate ramifications. Not to mention this particular cursed and sweet girl was romantically involved with Gold, and that alone gave August more than his fair share of reservation.

"You mean back to Storybrooke?"

She bit her lip, looking down before nodding.

Oh, so she was a liar too.

As a certain Hatter's tale might mention: curiouser and curiouser.

"I know him enough," August said with a half-shrug, trying to hopefully keep what he actually knew at bay. If there was magic at work here, he was pretty sure he had enough of it to last him the rest of his (hopefully) non-wooden life. "He makes quite an impression in town."

"Does he work for her?"

Curiouser and more migraine-inducing, maybe. The idea of Gold working for anyone was out of the hand of reason, something Belle should know more than anyone if the stories within Henry's book were true- and August had it on good authority that the majority were.

"Who?"

"The…" her nose scrunched up, clearly deep in thought. "The dark woman? With the hospital?"

August stared at her before taking another long drink of coffee. "Not that I know of."

She sighed, hands beginning to fold and refold the paper napkin that covered their bundled rolls of dinner silverware, and the moments passed in a companionable silence before she muttered, "Why are you helping me?"

He didn't have the heart to tell her that he was starting to ask himself the same question, and straightened in his seat, "I was on my way out, anyway."

"Really? Where were you going?"

He never liked being subject to questions, but something about the earnest way she was asking made him pause, "…New York, probably."

"I see," she said knowingly, but from the way she smoothed the napkin, refolded it, tore at the corners, and then smoothed it again led him to believe that she had next to know idea what he was talking about. Her next whispered question only confirmed it, "Is there an Old York?"

"Not that I know of."

"Got it," Belle leaned back in her seat as well, and August wondered if she was intentionally trying to mimic his posture. From the way she had ordered the same thing as he did without even looking at the diner's menu, he leaned towards a yes answer.

Well. Someone had to say it. "You don't get out much, do you?"

She froze. And again August was reminded of the little rabbit scurrying around, trying to find a hole in the ground to burrow into.

"Not exactly."

"Any particular reason?"

Belle licked her lips again. Another tell. She was full of them- if they were going to associate with each other August was going to have to teach her to lie better.

"I," her fingers began to fiddle with the napkin again. August eyed her for a few more minutes, trying to determine if she was going to actually finish that sentence. When the napkin was torn into little bits of napkin again, he decided against pressing her further.

"Any idea where you're going to go?"

She began to stare at the ground again, and August was about to write it off, grab his bike's keys, and hit the road. The diner wasn't too far from Storybrooke, if she wanted she could walk back and it wouldn't take her more than a half hour. And he didn't owe it to her. And he definitely didn't want to get involved with anything related to Mr. Gold ever again. That last gambit failed pretty spectacularly.

"I was thinking…" her voice was timid, but firm, and August rose his coffee mug to his lips again.

"…New York might be nice this time of year?"

The coffee was taken with a long, long swallow. Belle only continued to look at him, her rabbit-like expression morphing into one that almost resembled hope and, if he thought about it too long, there was definitely something…desperate to it.

He remembered a boy wanting to head out, _leave_ desperately before.

Still. "Let me guess, you don't have any money with you?" A head shake. "Or a way to get money in the near future?" And another. "And you'll be wanting a ride?" An emphatic nod. "But can't split gas money." Another shake.

August sighed, running a hand through his hair, "So why would I want to have you come to New York with me?"

Belle sat there for a few moments, her lips pursed into an expression of intense thought as she drummed her hands on the table.

"It's a good thing to do?"

_Remember to be brave, truthful and unselfish, Pinocchio._

The silence seemed to stretch for eternity, and her pleading eyes made him want something a little stronger to drink than the Colombian.

"On one condition."

Her eyes brightened, "Yes?"

"You tell me why you're leaving."

Her face went slightly pale, and Belle began to chew on her lower lip again. August didn't say anything, knowing that whatever it was, it was complicated, and complicated stories usually needed to start out on a simple and painful truth.

It was quiet for a long time. And the waitress refilled their cups twice. And her paper napkin was all but gone, revealing just a set of cheap, generic silverware.

Her hands glided over the fork, daintily pulling it free from the paper tie around it. "This…is called a fork, right?"

August chuckled, "Yeah, I think so."

She lifted it up to her eye level, and gradually used the tip of her finger to press against each of the four prongs. "I've never used one before," the prongs made tiny indents in her skin, "Too sharp." She looked up, a smile gracing her features for the first time since the joy of discovering coffee, "Actually, I've never used any metal silverware before, either. Only plastic, and then only spoons."

She was looking at him as if she expected some confirmation on the statement. Confused, August offered a nod, silently prompting her to continue.

"They told me they were too heavy. The- the metal ones, that is. I could throw them, or…or something. It seemed as if my entire time there was governed by so many little rules it's hard to remember why they were there in the first place. Actually, it's really hard to just…remember at all…really."

Belle put down the fork, and August watched it impassively, "And the tips were blunt but they could be sharp if they were pushed hard enough. It was hazardous. That one, I at least got to understand before they took it away for no true reason."

Things were beginning to slide into place for the former wooden boy, not unlike the complicated tumblers and gears Gepetto used in his carpentry.

"You were…locked away?"

She nodded.

"For how long?"

"I don't remember. I know it's a lot to trust, but I haven't been able to think of anything beyond the walls and waking up in the cart."

A curse then. Definitely a curse. One that had out maneuvered Gold.

Maybe one that would help with other…ailments. Something was starting to line up again, something that was no doubt a ripple caused by the actions of putting a magical princess and a wooden boy into a wardrobe. No one was out of the proverbial woods yet.

Which meant Thailand had to wait. And Costa Rico. And the Maldives. Singapore.

Unless August found who he was looking for in New York. And if he didn't, well, Gold would probably be very interested in the well-being of the woman across from him. Hopefully to the point of cooperation.

The mug now empty, August set it back down on the table and offered a slow, half-grin.

"Are you any good with maps, Belle?"

She blinked, "Maps?"

 _Definitely_ a curse.

"Don't worry about it. We'll go over them in a minute. Because I can't read them while I'm driving the bike, and I need a navigator to New York."

The smile that spread across her face almost made August believe helping her was going to be worth all the trouble that was sure to come.

III

He could barely register the sound of Ruby's footfalls, the reality of what had just occurred made his mind preoccupied enough to ignore the wolf's retreat.

Gold's hands clenched tighter and tighter over the handle of his cane, skin stretched and pulled to the point of being a ghastly white, but no matter how hard the strain he placed on his grip, the sunlight's border on the outskirts of the cave didn't move and the unthinkable thing that had just occurred became no less undone.

Belle was gone.

He had chased her out again, and her father had taken it a step further. The sniveling, disgusting coward of a man had allowed the child who had loved him enough to sacrifice _everything_ to disappear, to condemn his only daughter to a half existence full of uncertainty. Gold had never been beyond the borders of Storybrooke in this world, but what lay beyond its borders was not something that Belle would be safe from. There was no magic, no _protection_ , and now _there was no Belle._

The cane shattered as the taught grip finally slipped, the dark wood splitting in half as it connected violently with the stone wall of the cavern. And again. And again. Until Gold couldn't feel the shaking of his hands and couldn't forget the frightened, _absent_ look that had crossed Belle's face as Bae's imposter led her away.

Away from safety, away from any chance Gold might've had of restoring her memories that were so wrongfully stolen.

Screaming had done nothing. Pleading and begging had done nothing. _He_ had done nothing.

The cane irreparably destroyed, Gold sagged against the stone, jaw clenching and eyes squeezed shut. Again, someone he had loved had run from him because of magic. Again they had suffered for it, thrown out into a world where there was nothing he could do to protect them. In this world, Bae and Belle were no better served by Gold than if he had been the lowly, worthless, cowardly spinner-

Violently, Gold turned and slammed a closed fist against the rock.

She had warned him. _She had warned him_. Magic, or she would leave. Honesty, or she would leave.

One had been impossible to surrender and the other harder still to give. And his weakness had left that opening for her pathetic excuse of a father to intervene.

Gold had failed to get to her in time, and she was gone again. Casted out and left for the wolves.

And worse yet, Gold knew that he wouldn't go after her. He had tried. Seeing her there, sitting in the cart on the other side of the wall, he had stood, leg muscles tensed, arm ready to shift his cane forward just that one, lowly inch between the two of them. But he didn't go over it. His mind had worked out any impulsive inclination towards heroics, reminding him of what happened to those that left the border of Storybrooke. Of what the curse that he had created, so very long ago, entailed in the details.

You could go over the wall, but not without losing everything that meant anything within the wall's borders. And Gold had been afraid. Afraid to lose that power, to interrupt the plan that he had spent hundreds of years creating and adapting. Stepping over the line meant that there would be no finding Bae. His son would be gone, truly and forever. Belle…Belle would be gone too.

And after everything they had managed so far, those two thoughts overshadowed it all. Gold needed his power, he needed his boy. And trying to stop Belle and bring her back over the edge only meant that he would be giving up everything that meant something beyond his cowardice.

So he had watched her go. Not taking any movement to stop her. Again.

Gold's nostrils flared as he closed his eyes.

It wouldn't do to dwell. He couldn't get to Belle now any more than he could get to Bae. Both were out of his reach, and one sole, stark fact remained.

The curse had to be broken. Completely.

And beneath that fact, there simmered something else.

Something darker.

Something aimed primarily at the thief and fool who had forcibly taken a woman against her will.

Saving Belle was an impossibility at the moment.

But the former Lord Maurice of the Marchlands was not going to be walking away from the hideous crime he had committed against her.

If he was going to be walking away at all.

Belle's father would be dealt with. And then the curse would be broken.

Because his only child and the only woman he had ever been brave enough to love were not going to be taken from him again. Not by force and not by Gold's own failings.

He owed them both that much.

And it started by forcing himself to move and confront the reality of Belle's second disappearance, and to ignore that feeling he had come to know all too well of something twisting in his heart.

It started, with him and Moe French having a little _chat._

III

The key had been very hard to find, but that was sort of his specialty at this point, and Smee sighed as he kneeled down, fishing it out of the dirt beside the mining cart tracks.

This wouldn't do.

It wouldn't do at all.

He had hoped, perhaps a little too much, that the key would be accompanied by a set of discarded cuffs. That had been the plan, after all. Smee might have been a thief, a pirate, and the occasional cheat at cards but he wasn't about to condone _memory_ wiping. A man had to have his limits. Secret and unannounced limits, but limits nonetheless. Anyone without them might as well consider himself lost.

He sighed. Speaking of lost boys and their unnamed limits.

Smee stood, brushing off his pants as he turned to face his two companions, "Looks like it's time for plan B, lads. Gene? Be an enormous amount of help and see to it that we get our best traveling outfits prepared."

Gene groaned, not without a considerable amount of eyerolling, "Right now? I mean, I get that you want to start things moving along, but it's not like anything's going to be done today." He offered a smile, eyebrow perking. Smee groaned. He knew that look. Everyone knew that look. The smolder. "Can't we take a night off? I did just get about twenty eight years of repressed memory back."

Next to him, Al just stared at the key in Smee's hands.

"She really went over?"

Smee blew on the key, brushing away imaginary dust, "Looks like."

Al rubbed the back of his neck, "That's…awful."

"Potentially. It'll be more awful if this scheme works out and our dear old Captain realizes we haven't worked out the scheme," Smee muttered, taking the key and putting it in his shirt pocket. He turned to the two, "We leave tonight. Always better to be one jump ahead, wouldn't you say Al?"

He gave a lopsided grin while Gene gave a groan and subsequent headbang against the wooden support beam, "What's one more whole new world?"


	3. Between Lines

The silence stretched on between them, and David was finding it harder and harder to stop counting the seconds that became minutes. Where were they? The way Ruby had picked up on the scent, there'd be no reason for the wait. Either they got to her in time…or…

Moe rasped as he breathed, just slightly, but as bad as David felt he wasn't willing to let up on his grip. The guy had coldcocked him, after all. And if Ruby and Gold didn't get to Belle in time, well, an uncomfortable hold on his jacket was probably going to be the least of his worries.

David turned to stare at who his Storybrooke persona knew as a withdrawn florist. It wasn't matching up—the man was supposed to be this girl's  _father,_ and as bad of an impression Rumpelstiltskin no doubt made, Charming could remember the way his eyes had darkened when he spoke of a true love lost. He  _had_ loved her, or at least as much as he was capable of loving. And, sure, if Emma had brought home something dark, sinister, and scaley he wouldn't have been the most enthusiastic of parents, but to do this? To kidnap his daughter, strap her into a mine cart, and shove her off? It didn't sit well with him.

Plus, he hadn't been able to get the whole story out of Gold, but there was a panicked urgency in his voice when he talked about preventing Belle from that particular fate. And David couldn't help but feel a strange sense of déjà vu of his time spent as John Doe, the amnesiac coma patient. The Queen hadn't been the most giving to some with her fake memories, and David was able to put two and two together. Especially since Belle had never been seen in Storybrooke before the curse was broken.

"She's gone," Moe muttered, making another feeble attempt at prying David's grip off of him, "It's over."

David glared at him, not sure what to make of his words. On the one hand he seemed relieved, but on the other…

"For your sake, Mr. French, I really hope you're wrong," was all he offered, shaking his head, "She's your  _daughter_ , how can you wish that on her?"

Moe scowled, but his fingers stilled from trying to pry off his jacket, "She needed to forget about him, she said she was  _in love_ with the monster-!"

"I think there's something more to this than a bad taste in boyfriends," David countered, having heard Moe's protests in this particular area before, "I think you'd be able to come up with something a little more…substantial."

The florist snorted, "Don't act like you know what I've just lost, Sheriff. She's my only girl. And it hurts me more than it hurts that creature for her to forget I ever existed."

He frowned, "You didn't know her in Storybrooke?"

"I'd…I'd thought she died," Moe's eyes glazed slightly, the way they often did when the two lives tried to war for dominance, "She jumped…"

Small wonder Gold was afraid for his lover- David mentally recoiled just slightly – girlfriend.

"Look, when she gets back here we'll straighten some things out. But you're not off the hook just yet, French. She may be your daughter but you effectively kidnapped her against her will."

Moe shook his head. "She's gone, and she's not coming back, Sheriff."

David sighed, "I'm an optimist." He flexed his fingers, eying the florist again. There was nothing blatantly harmful about him, "I'm going to let you go. I think you're not going to run after them and try and take a swing at Gold again, am I thinking correctly?"

Moe hesitated, but gave a tense nod.

"Good."

Moe slumped to the ground as soon as David's hand left his collar, rubbing his neck and staring at him. Not for the first time, David was struck by how such a plain, beaten man could do something so…evil.

"They won't get her in time," Moe whispered, rolling his shoulders, "She's gone from this town. Gone for good."

"We'll just have to see about that-"

"David!" The sound of Ruby's voice threw him, and David turned, trying not to make the obvious conclusion of her arriving without Gold or Belle.

"What happened?"

The former werewolf shook her head, staring at Moe in what looked like barely concealed contempt, "We need to leave. Now."

"Where's Gold?"

"At the border."

David closed his eyes, knowing the next question was nearly redundant, "And Belle?"

Ruby scowled, her eyes trained on Moe the entire time, "She went over. August grabbed her."

That made him pause, the name sounding familiar, "Who?"

Ruby shook her head, "I…we didn't know him back in the forest. I don't think," she resumed her glare at Moe, "But for some reason he can come and go between Storybrooke and outside without losing his memory."

David frowned, thinking, "How do we get a hold of him? And do you think that Belle's…safe?"

"Safer than she'd ever be here," Moe scoffed, but both ignored the comment.

"I think so. He was a little…" Ruby bit her lip, "Dodgy. But nothing harmful."

"Right." David ran a hand through his hair, "Okay, first things first. Let's get Gold."

Ruby hesitated, and David raised an eyebrow at her, "What?"

"Maybe we should…give him some space," her dark, angry glare rested on Moe again, "And take care of him, first."

Moe straightened, "Whatever you want to do to me, do it. I only did what's best for Belle."

"You think what's best for Belle is getting kidnapped and mindwiped?" Ruby shot back, clearly enraged at the man but doing her best to keep herself calm and rational.

David stared at Ruby, "I'm guessing Mr. Gold is…upset."

She snorted.

"Right." David gestured towards Moe, "Ruby, take Mr. French under custody. He's under arrest."

"For what?!" Moe demanded.

David stared at him levelly, "Kidnapping. And…and-"

"Mindwiping?" Ruby suggested.

David nodded, "Mindwiping."

Ruby stared at the former prince, "I don't exactly have handcuffs."

David cleared his throat, tossing his pair to her, "Well, now you do. Deputy." She gave a wane smile at that, before advancing on Moe. To his credit, he hardly struggled, settling instead for an angry glare.

"And what about you?"

"I'm going to go talk to Gold. Try and persuade him from doing anything…" he stared at Belle's father, "Irrational in retaliation. Let him know we're going to do our best to get her back." And Mary Margaret. And Emma.

Ruby nodded, "Good luck," she turned to Moe, and with a little more force than was strictly necessary started shoving him back the way they came. David could make out the echoed "I hope you're happy, you miserable piece of-" before they faded from earshot.

He frowned, looking down the passageway Ruby had emerged from.

Now to find Mr. Gold.

It was almost a pity he forgot his sword. He doubted that even here, Rumpelstiltskin was the type to want to talk it out.

**III**

It was the third time he had looked at the map, and it didn't matter if the map was upside down, right side up, or sideways- the end result was the same.

Storybrooke didn't exist.

Or if it did, it moved.

Neal sighed heavily, dragging a hand from the top of his head down his face in a pathetic attempt to wipe away the frustration. Just a guy's luck. Eleven years, a post card, and now no functional map.

Ever since the post card had arrived a few weeks ago, Neal had done his best to try and get things in order to go after Emma. First there had been Mapquest. Then Google. Then roadmaps. And following that, a frustrating day trip up to Maine and back. But nothing. He had even gone as far as to call a travel agency, but the gratingly chirping voice had only informed him that Storybrooke wasn't on their itinerary, but maybe he would be interested in exploring the suburbs of Portland?

Frustrated, Neal had made his way back to his apartment in New York. And now, about thirty different maps and fifteen different phone numbers for businesses and traveling agencies, he was no closer to Emma than he had been the night he hopped the border back to Canada. Further maybe, since all this…magic crap had made another barrier aside from the obvious legal ones.

Neal leaned back in his seat, staring at the ceiling. His mind replayed the conversation they would have. She'd scream at him, maybe cry, maybe demand he turn around and never return. It hadn't been his intention to leave her, but curses weren't something he could handle. Not the way things were, and not the way Emma was supposed to be the one to break the spell. A guy could offer the sweeter side of life, but he couldn't hand-wave a grand destiny or hero's journey. That sort of thing was better left alone, no matter how rough it would be for the both of them.

Frustration not really leaving, Neal leaned back forward over his desk, a hand going out and grabbing the postcard off the desk. The picture of the clock tower on the other side seemed to be mocking him, making the place look accessible or at least, y'know, physically present. The damn thing even had  _postage._

"Broken".

Right.

Somehow, the more vanishing maps and befuddled travel agents, the less he was believing that particular message. Not that August had really been much help with either of their lives in the long run.

Neal ached for a cigarette. He had started a little after the watch incident, but now he was trying to quit. Trying being the operative word, and his fingers drummed over the routes of highways and county roads again, looking for  _something_ that would give him any indication of the world not fitting right.

But the answer to the problem kept slipping away. It was almost as if he would get a lead, a place where two roads didn't quite intersect, and at the last instant his eyes would dart away from it, landing again on the many dotted and dashed area of Portland.

Whoever had made this curse, it was methodical and expertly executed. Neal had his suspicions on its maker, but it didn't do anyone any good to dwell on it.

"Not exactly a good day, eh?" Neal muttered, eyes glancing at the poster of Tom Petty on the wall. Tom stared at him over the edge of his sunglasses, but didn't offer any comment one way or the other. Neal snorted, "Yeah, well, the second album was your best, so what do you know."

Now he was talking to walls. First pigeons that delivered postcards from towns that weren't on any maps and now he was trying to strike up a conversation with a picture of an aging rock star. Just what he needed, getting to Emma and making himself madder than a March hare.

"Alright, think," he muttered, dark eyes scanning the spread images of the maps in front of him. He was missing something. And that something was going to get him to the town that so far hadn't managed to exist.

Neal's eyes focused again on the lines that broke apart to the far north of the state. County roads eight and fifteen. They separated over a large gap, then reconvened in twenty five miles north. Twenty five miles was big enough for a town, right? And it was the only section of the map that didn't detail the-

" _Everybody said that you better watch out. Man, she's gonna turn you in-"_

Neal's phone flashed and vibrated, the light flickering somewhat due to the shattered screen. Miraculously, the thing had managed to survive the five story drop. And they said that he'd want the warranty.

" _And me, you know that I thought I lucked out-"_

He swore, eyes darting back to the map. Sure enough, the invisible meeting point had vanished, and he glared at the phone. Whoever was calling him better have a good reason.

He lifted it up and scowled. Unknown number.

" _Now look at all the trouble I'm in-"_

Couldn't hurt.

Neal rolled his thumb over the shattered remains of the touch screen, "Hello?"

The voice that replied made him sit up a little straighter in his seat.

"Did you get my postcard?"

He licked his lips, "Could've used some directions."

A heavy sigh came through the other end, "I figured as much. This curse is…complicated."

"This is a few steps passed  _complicated._ Complicated is trying to forge a work visa. Trying to visit an imaginary town that doesn't exist is more than what you put on the label when I agreed to your shitty plan." Maybe politeness with the "guardian angel" might have been more beneficial to both parties involved, but Neal had spent the last four weeks staring at road maps with no destination, and well,  _cranky_ might have been a good word for it.

"I know, just. Sit tight. I'll get it fixed."

" _Sit tight_? I think I've been doing that for about eleven years," Neal stood, starting to pace the length of his apartment, "And no offense, but I let you try to fix it the first time. And I think we're both seeing how well that one worked out."

The man on the other end of the line's tone got noticeably darker, "Not everything worked out the way it was supposed to."

"Don't give me that," Neal hissed.

"Fine, I won't. But you need to listen to me."

" _Really_?"

"Yes, really. Because I'm the only one who can get you to Storybrooke."

Frustrated beyond all belief, Neal gave his wastebin a solid kick. The aluminum tin sailed across the apartment in a loud crash, papers and trash flying all over the place. Neal muttered under his breath and looked skyward for a moment. His luck really wasn't in the best of places lately.

"And how are you going to do that?"

There was silence on the other end for a few moments, before he cleared his throat.

"I'm going to take you on the guided tour."

He frowned, "When?"

"We should be there by tomorrow."

Neal tried to ignore the way his heart rate shot up at the word "we". The guy wasn't alone. Did that mean-?

"We, as in-?"

"No. She's not with me."

His frown grew, "Then where is she?"

"…Storybrooke."

Neal knew that pause. It was the one that came before telling a whole truth. So she wasn't in Storybrooke.

"Just tell me how Emma is."

There. He had said it. The name seemed to almost reverberate throughout the loft.

"She's fine. Safe," the next words were the only ones that Neal didn't suspect as complete bullshit, "She broke the curse."

Neal laughed, shaking his head, "She broke  _a_ curse, from the looks of things. And do me a favor, I might not be a wizard or an angel or whatever it is you're pretending to be, but I can hear a lie a mile away, so if you could cut the bullshit I'd appreciate it."

There was a few seconds of hesitation before, "Alright. But it's better we talk through this in person."

Neal closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Fine. It's not too far of a leap to guess you know where I live?"

"You're in the phonebook."

Neal, despite the irritation he felt at the man, had to laugh, "Part of the image. I'm an art dealer now."

A small chuckle was returned, "Right." August let the chuckle die, before muttering, "We'll be there tomorrow night. Be ready."

"Is Emma-?"

The sound of a dead line was his only answer.

Neal lowered the phone from his ear, surveying the damage that a projectile trashbin caused.

Might as well start cleaning the mess up now. He was having company for the first time in eight years.

**III**

Ruby told herself that she was a professional, and in control of her temper, but that didn't stop the angry scowl that had become permanently wrenched onto her face. Nor the glare that was focused on the florist that was currently residing in the prison cell. Or the way she kept fidgeting in her seat as if she were about to pounce.

The latter was what unnerved Moe the most and finally prompted him to speak to the wolf-girl, "Would you  _stop_?"

"Stop what?" She snapped, drawing up from her hunched sitting position and opting instead to cross her arms over her chest.

"Staring at me like I'm a meal!"

Her eyes widened, offended. "Don't even-!"

The rant that was piling up on the tip of her tongue was cut short by the dull sound of uneven, approaching footsteps coupled with David's shouting.

"Gold, look we can talk this out-!"

Ruby and Moe's eyes both widened, and Ruby got up immediately, patting her leggings to make sure the keys to the cell were still there. She might have thought Moe French was only a few layers above dirt at the present moment, but she wasn't about to hand his safety over to Gold, either. Especially not with the rumors of what the pawnbroker had done to him last time.

The door to the sheriff's office snapped open, and Ruby tensed as Mr. Gold walked into the holding area. Outwardly, he seemed calm, but the way his jaw was tensed and the dark, hating look to his stare hinted at something worse simmering just below the surface. And Ruby really wasn't in the mood to let that something loose. Odds were she'd be stuck cleaning up after it.

Ruby stared at him. He returned it levelly.

"Mr. French's cell key, if you'd please," Gold held out a hand expectantly.

She snorted, "No way."

His mouth tightened almost imperceptibly, "It wasn't a request."

"You said 'please'," Ruby replied, raising an eyebrow. Her glance shifted to Moe, who was looking paler by the second, back to Gold, "He's not my favorite person either right now, but that doesn't mean we can man-handle him."

Gold's eyes narrowed, "On the contrary, Miss Lucas. I was simply wanting a little chat with Mr. French."

"Then go for it. Outside his cell." She replied just as evenly.

"Gold-!" David skidded to a halt in front of the Sheriff's doorway, sagging with obvious relief at the sight of Ruby standing between the man and Moe. With the way Gold had shouldered past him in the caves without a word, David had feared the worst. "Good. Gold, sit down and we'll talk-"

Mr. Gold closed his eyes with obvious irritation, "Sheriff, I think we can both agree that the time for talking has past."

Nervously, David's eyes flickered to Moe. Taking the unvoiced request, Ruby walked over to stand closer to the florist's cell. "No, we can't. We don't know anything about what the curse's effects will do to Belle-"

Gold's mouth twisted into a snarl, his gold teeth prominent, "I think the curse's  _effects_ are quite clear-"

"Good!" David groaned. Moe had definitely picked the worst time to speak up. The florist stood, hands gripping the bars, "You won't touch my darling Belle ever again,  _beast_ -!"

The pawnbroker advanced deceivingly fast for the limp in his leg, " _You_ are not fit to call yourself a father-!"

"Ease up Gold!" Ruby growled, shouldering her way between them.

"STOP!" David cried, and was surprised to see that it had a momentary stilling effect on the other parties of the holding room. He breathed, placing his hands on his hips, "I think we can all agree that this isn't going to do any good." From Gold's expression, it was clear he begged the contrary, but David pressed on, "The priority should be the recovery of a missing person. The longer we wait, the further Belle goes past Storybrooke and the less chance we have of getting to her."

He made sure to make direct eye contact with Gold, and he felt something twist in his gut when he recognized the expression in the older man's eyes. It reflected almost the exact same thing he felt when he thought of Snow and Emma.

"What are we going to do?" Ruby asked cautiously, her muscles still tense and ready to move into the line of fire if anything lit the spark between Gold and Moe.

"There's nothing that can be done," Gold muttered, the edge of his voice fading to be replaced with something mirroring desperation, "Save breaking the curse."

David nodded, "And we're going to do everything we can to make that happen." Gold opened his mouth to protest but David beat him to it. "Remember how you said I'm in the unique position to understand  _exactly_ what you're going through?"

The protest fell short, and Gold gave a tight nod, "Something along those lines, yes."

"Then trust me when I say  _we're going to figure this out._ But I need you to not kill your girlfriend's-" Both Moe and Gold grimaced at the word, albeit for very different reasons, "-father in the meantime. No matter how much he might deserve it. Are we clear?"

The tension in the room was palpable, and Gold stared heavily at David, as if trying to find some sort of crack or weakness in his resolve. Finding none, he gave a hesitant nod.

"For the moment."

David let go of a breath, "Good. Then let's start figuring out a plan to get her back safe," he moved behind the Sheriff's desk, "Any thoughts?"

"There's Mr. Clark?" Ruby offered, worry beginning to get a hold of her now that the anger was fleeing, "The other dwarves had him cross the line. He might be a good place to start."

David dipped his head, "We'll start by talking to him, the other dwarves too. They'll be able to explain exactly what happened when Clark went over, which should give us somewhere to start. Gold?"

"What?"

"Is there anything we can do to help with your research?"

Gold's expression morphed into a confused frown. Obviously offers of help were something he had never dealt with, "The hat."

David's heart stopped beating.  _The_ hat. The one that was possibly the only chance they had between this world and the Enchanted Forest. The only chance of getting his family back… "Provided you don't destroy or damage it in any way, you can  _borrow_ it."

Something about Gold visibly settled, and David fought the urge to punch him. The request had been a test, he was sure of it. His assumptions punctuated by Gold's quiet reply of, "Deal."

The sheriff rolled his shoulders, "Alright, that's a start. Ruby? Find Mr. Clark and bring him in, ask Leroy to accompany him. We'll start there. Gold, the hat's at Mary Margaret's apartment. I'll let Henry know you're coming."

The pawnbroker nodded, though his gaze drifted back to the cell, "And what about French?"

Moe stood, hands wrapping around the bars of his cell. David shook his head.

"Mr French is staying here, for the time being."

The florist's eyes widened, "For what?!"

David met his gaze coldly, "Mr. French, you've effectively  _murdered_ someone. She might have been your daughter, and there isn't any…precedence…for this charge of a crime before, but rest assured you are not leaving this cell anytime soon," he looked at Gold, "I hope that's good enough for you, Gold?"

"Not even a start," Gold hissed, but he turned away from the death glare he had been setting on Belle's father, "But that can be dealt with later. Belle…Belle needs to be found first."

Ruby and David shared a meaningful look before the latter sighed.

"Alright. Then let's get started on the rescue operation."

**III**

The motel wasn't the ideal place to stop for the night, but there was only so much ground you could cover on a motorcycle. That, and it was clear from the way Belle was getting paler and paler that the journey was overexerting whatever emotional and mental strength she had. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something that was weighing heavily on her. It was that same rabbit-look that he had identified earlier at the diner, but he couldn't get the two to line up to a proper theory. Whatever it was, she was exhausted and it wasn't a bad idea for the two of them to get some rest before tomorrow.

Plus, he had needed to make a phone call.

As soon as August had checked them in to the motel, (single room, two beds), he had made a quick excuse and made his way to the lobby. There, he had called Neal. To say the conversation had been pleasant was a far cry from the truth, but at least it was a start.

August had been a bad boy, and it was time to begin fixing things.

Starting with picking up a wayward thief and reuniting him with the mother of his child. The fact that the mother of his child was sucked down a vortex somewhere and that he probably didn't even know of the child's existence was neither here nor there. Baby steps were crucial.

As soon as the phone conversation had concluded, he made his way back to the room, stopping at a vending machine on the way up to get two sodas for the pair of them. They hadn't stopped for rest in about eight hours, and he was starting to feel a little guilty about how worn-down she was. Some caffeine probably wouldn't hurt either of them, and she had already expressed her distaste for coffee. When he finally made his way back to the room, August swiped the electronic keycard and walked in. His eyes widened at what he saw.

Belle sat on the far twin bed, the maps that he had given her earlier to navigate with spread out over the comforter in wide disarray. Her head shot up at the sound of his entrance, and August was surprised to see that her blue eyes were ringed with red, and that she was frantically trying to wipe away the tear tracks on her cheeks with the heel of her hand.

"I'm sorry!" She said with a sniff, going quickly to organize the chaotic mess she had made of his road maps, "I was just…I was just trying to understand-!" Her apology was a garbled mess, punctuated by sniffles.

August frowned, setting down the sodas on the end table and making his way over to her, "It's just some maps," he said, kneeling down and grabbing her hands to still them. "What's wrong?"

She bit her lip, staring at him.

"Belle?"

The young woman squeezed her eyes shut, and her shoulders sagged. August ran his thumbs over the backs of her hands in an attempt to comfort her. He wasn't sure what exactly had induced this hysteria in the five minutes it had taken him to make a phone call, but he wasn't really keen on watching it. Something about her distress was making him feel oddly…guilty.

"I…I don't understand them. This whole time, I've been trying to, but." She shook her head.

August's eyes darted to the mess on the comforter, putting two and two together. "The maps?"

Belle nodded.

He didn't understand. He had yet to even ask her for directions on the trip, as they had only made it through the easier parts of Maine and New Hampshire. "What about them?"

August tried not to notice how her chin began to wobble in poorly concealed frustration. "I…" she scowled, "I can't read them."

Cautiously, August shifted his weight so that he was sitting across from her on the bed, picking up a roadmap of Pennsylvania, "It's alright. The mileage on them can be confusing and I was mostly kidding about needing a navigator anyways-"

"No!" The outburst from her took him aback, and August let his hold on her hands go limp. She pulled away, grabbing the map and pressed it close to her face, "I can't  _read_ them."

It hit him. "You're…illiterate?"

The tears sprang into her eyes again, and her freed hands bunched up into fists. " _No_. I mean, I…I  _remember_ reading. But I can't anymore!" She bit down on her lip, and August watched, trying to decipher what she was really saying. "I…I used to read all the time, and now…" A sob wracked her body, "I've been trying to understand the letters on the map the entire time. And the ones on the menus. And the signs. They don't  _mean_ anything!"

And the two things that didn't line up slid a little into place. Her memories had to have been tampered with. A possible side-effect of the curse? Or a condition for leaving Storybrooke? The latter made sense, especially in conjunction with her appearance beyond the town's line.

Not knowing what else to do, August placed his hand under her chin and tilted it up to meet his stare. "Listen," he muttered, trying as best as he could to appear as earnest as he could be, "Whatever…happened. It's temporary."

Her eyes were watering again, "The whole time I was locked up," her voice was escalating in pitch as a panic overtook her, "They never gave me anything with letters on it. I-I never got a wristband or letters or even a  _chart_ -"

"It's temporary," August reasserted, bringing an arm around her shoulders in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. She was still tense, but her breathing was starting to stop its frenzied pick-up, "It's temporary and it's not your fault."

Belle sobbed, resting her head on his shoulder, "It's…not making any sense. I  _know_ how to read. I remember doing it-!" She stilled under his arm, and August watched her face pale, "What if…what if they took it? What if they took it away in the hospital?!"

August shook his head, "They didn't take it. You can't take away that kind of thing," Well, you could. With a curse. But August didn't see the harm in lying on this particular subject, "I promise. You're not broken, alright?"

Her hands bunched over a map, the paper crinkling in her hand. But she nodded, tears landing on the papers. "How…how could this have happened?"

August dropped the arm around her shoulders, using his hand to scratch the back of his neck. "Hard to say."

She stared at the maps again, and this time August knew the desperation stemmed from trying to reach out and grab something that was over the precipice. Belle, not for the first time, looked horribly lost as she tried to hold onto something that was no longer there. They sat there, her trying valiantly not to cry due to her frustration and fear, and August trying to determine just how deep he was in.

Finally, he cleared his throat, "We…we have a long day ahead of us."

Belle nodded.

August stood, offering her a soda, "You probably don't want this now, but in the morning it'll help," she weakly took it and he offered her a half-grin, which she feebly offered in return. "Caffeine. It works wonders."

Belle blinked, "Calfiend?"

"Close enough. It's good. Gives you, uh, energy," August, on impulse, gave her hand a squeeze with his own, "Drink it in the morning. Maybe you'll like it better than coffee."

"Right," she whispered, "In the morning." Her eyes drifted again to the maps. August swore internally.

"And hey, don't worry about the maps." He lightly knocked on his head with his fist, "It's not all wooden up in here. I'm sure the two of us can figure it out."

Her eyes watered again, but Belle nodded, "I'm sorry, again."

August smiled, "Don't be. I'm starting to think having company for this isn't the worst idea." He let go of her hand, going to his own bed and shrugging off his jacket. "But we'll talk things out in the morning, alright?"

"Alright," she sniffed again, and August grabbed the box of Kleenex on the stand between them and tossed it at her. She startled, but caught it and grabbed a tissue. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Get some sleep, Belle."

She blew her nose, "Yeah, you too."

Content, August rolled over, facing away from the confused beauty and trying not to hear the crinkle of paper as she turned the maps over again and again throughout the night.

 


	4. The Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry and Mr. Gold have some hot cocoa. And conspiracy.

"You mean someone knew and did it  _on purpose_?" Leroy's exclamation settled over the current visitors like a smothering blanket.

Ruby frowned from her seat on top of the sheriff's desk, cradling her cheek in her hand, "That's what we're going on. Her dad."

Leroy snorted, hand going for the flask that he kept on the inside of his coat. Grumpy might've been back but Leroy wasn't really kicked yet, "Just what we need. More crazy people."

David frowned, "It's…a complicated situation, to say the least. You can see why we might need Sneezy's help?"

The former dwarf frowned, looking down at the ground, "Problem with that is there ain't a Sneezy anymore. Just Clark."

"Do you think he could help us? We can't risk sending anyone new over the border," David could feel the start of a headache coming on. As acting sheriff of the place, it was up to him to ensure everyone's safety. Belle might not be Belle of the Enchanted Forest anymore, but she was still a resident of Storybrooke. Albeit unofficially, if the hospital records were any indication.

It had been a few hours since Moe's arrest, and since then David had done his best to orchestrate some form of a rescue operation. He wished he could say he was surprised that Gold hadn't stayed to assist, but it had always been in Rumplestiltskin's nature to work solo. The pawnbroker had remained at the station long enough to watch David call Henry back at Mary Margaret's apartment, telling him to get the hat ready for Mr. Gold, before he had taken off without a word to either he, Ruby, or, surprisingly, Moe French.

And now, here they were. Trying to figure out how to rescue someone outside of the cursed town's walls while Gold did who knows what to a magical hat. Despite the contractual obligation of Gold's "Deal", David still had his reservations about him messing with it. Though it wasn't his hat originally, it was the only possible way to bridge between here and the Enchanted Forest, and David knew he would be making several "checks" on Gold's progress with it.

Grumpy- Leroy, stood near the door, arms crossed over his chest. Ruby had brought him in after Mr. Clark had refused to leave his work "during store hours". No one really knew what the next step was, but David's mind had been teetering over a very dangerous question.

"You want him to leave," Ruby said, breaking the few minutes of silence as she turned a questioning eye to him, "Do you think that would even help? Belle might be missing but she's at least with someone we know. If Sneezy goes out and doesn't come back…"

Leroy glared, "Clark's not going."

At the silence that followed he rolled his eyes.

"C'mon. Even I can tell the answer to this isn't having  _two_ people lost outside of Storybrooke. Despite the curse's memories, Clark's never left this town. None of us have. He'd be just as stuck."

"You're right," David muttered, unhappy but also unwilling to risk someone else's safety. Last he checked that wasn't the point of a rescue op.

Ruby frowned, looking worried. "Then what are we going to do?"

They both looked at him and David sighed, hating when he didn't have an answer to give.

"Let's see how Gold does with the hat first. We'll work from there."

**III**

Henry was pretty sure he was starting to get the hang of this. He could see at least six marshmallows per cup (okay, maybe seven in his but to be fair they were  _smaller)_ and none of the foam had yet to spill over as he gingerly made his way to the coffee table in front of the sofa, precariously balancing each mug of cocoa as if they contained the liquid of the Holy Grail.

Maybe they did. Things had gotten weird in Storybrooke ever since Emma had broken the curse.

Trying not to think of his biological mother, mainly because it made him sad but also because it distracted his thoughts from Operation Viper, Henry blew onto the top of each mug. The steam disappeared from over the tops before settling again. He was starting to wonder why anyone ever did that in the first place, it really didn't seem to pay off.

The young prince sighed, flopping down on the worn but comfortable cushions of the sofa. Maybe it was time to take the Operation to a whole new level. Obviously nothing good was coming around of just  _waiting._ He had been waiting for what felt like forever, and for all he knew, Emma and Mary Margaret were off getting eaten by ogres or something.

Well. Probably not. Snow White had been kind of a badass in the books and Emma knew how to use a gun. Ogres were probably okay. But still. They weren't  _home._

Dejected, Henry eyed the worn, crushed velvet hat on the end table of the living room. It had belonged to the Hatter—Jefferson, Paige's dad. Real dad. It was getting difficult to keep track of everything, but thankfully Henry had started to match up names and Fairy Tale identities on a cork board that had previously held Mary Margaret's grocery lists. It was all coming together, for the most part. There were only a few that Henry hadn't been able to figure out, mainly because there were people in town who were in more than one story, and the stories weren't really in a straight order. Talk about headaches.

He might need another cocoa before the day was done.

Henry eyed the spare mug hungrily. If Mr. Gold didn't get here soon, the hot chocolate might be…what was that word again?... _appropriated._

As if on cue, and it probably was because, in a way, this was a  _fairy tale_ they were in, the door to Mary Margaret's apartment gave a sharp knock. Henry grinned, picking himself up off the couch and rushing to the door.

"Hey Mr. Gold!" He said, offering his best toothy grin as he swung the entrance to the apartment wide open.

The pawnbroker- or wizard, Henry guessed- offered a weak smile in return that failed to reach his eyes. Henry noticed he was walking with a different cane.

"Hello Henry, might I come in?"

Henry stepped aside, making a big motion with his arm. Typically, letting Mr. Gold in when he was alone probably wasn't the best idea- his mom hadn't been on best terms with him, and his other mom flat out hated the guy- but David had called and given the okay a few minutes ago. And David wasn't one of the best princes ever for nothing.

"Sure. Do you like cocoa?"

Mr. Gold stared at him, finally giving a slow blink. He had that look on his face again, Henry noticed. The one that made it clear that he was maybe a little sad underneath the whole…being Rumplestiltskin thing. "I'm afraid I won't have time for that, though thank you."

Henry rolled his eyes, walking quickly over to the coffee table and picking up the spare mug, returning to offer it to the older man. "Here just try some. You've had a bad day."

The faintest flicker of amusement crossed his face and this time Henry was positive that he was more than a little sad, "The gesture's appreciated, Henry. But I really must be going soon."

Eye. Roll. "I have a thermos, you know."

"…I suppose that will do."

"Here," Henry ordered, shoving the mug into Gold's spare hand, "Hold on to this while I get it."

Gold stared at the mug in his hands with something torn between confusion and regret. The sound of Henry tearing through the kitchen could be heard from the entryway and Gold cleared his throat.

"No school today?"

Henry groaned. Leave it to grown-ups to bring something like  _school_ into the mix when there were princesses trapped in enchanted forests and girlfriends of…whatever Rumplestiltskin was all brainwashed and stuff.

"Nope."

"Henry."

The ten year old sighed, shuffling another plastic bowl as he dug out a stainless steel thermos from the cupboard under the sink. It had flowers painted on the side, but he was sure Mr. Gold wasn't going to worry about something like that. Besides, they said in one of the stories that he could turn people into snails so Henry wasn't too worried about someone picking on him for it. "Look, we're on break."

"Really? And what sort of break would that be in the middle of September?"

Henry found the lid, crawling back from underneath the cabinet and returning back to his guest, "The kind that you get when your teacher gets sucked into a hat," he shoved the thermos out to Mr. Gold, "Here."

Eyebrows perked slightly, Mr. Gold took the thermos and began to neatly pour his cocoa into it. Henry noticed he didn't spill. Probably explained why he always wore suits. He'd do it too if he never spilled anything. "And…no progress has been made in recovering your grandmother?"

Henry's mouth quirked up a little, but he was pretty sure he hadn't been able to mask the fact that maybe he was a little sad too, "Not yet. But we're not going to give up," he met Mr. Gold's stare very evenly, "We're not giving up on them! That's why we have Operation Viper now."

"Viper?"

"Yeah. But it's on a need-to-know basis."

"Ah, of course," Henry was surprised when Mr. Gold brought the thermos to his lips, taking a sip. He must have been having a really hard day. "It's good, thank you Henry."

"No problem. And don't worry, I didn't add the cinnamon to yours since, well. You don't really seem like the cinnamon guy."

A wane smile again. "Perhaps next time I'll be more open to trying new things."

Henry rubbed the back of his neck, something he had picked up from David, "Yeah. Sorry to hear about your girlfriend." A pause. "Is it a girlfriend? Do you call them something different when you get old?"

There was that sad smile again, "It's complicated."

"You miss her, huh?"

It took him a second, but he gave a nod, leaning on his cane, "Yes, very much."

"So what happened, anyway? David just said that she was gone?"

The pawnbroker took a deep breath, "Her father sent her over the line."

Henry's eyes widened, "So she doesn't remember? She's cursed again?!"

"Yes."

"She doesn't know who you are?"

Gold winced, "No."

Henry gave a low whistle, "That's rough."

Mr. Gold's fingers flexed around the handle of his cane. Henry noticed that the top wasn't gold like usually was, just a plain wooden knot at the end of it, "Yes. Yes it is."

"So that's why you want the hat? To go after Beauty?"

Feeling as if this wasn't going to be an easy endeavor, and his knee aching from all the previous walking without his cane, Mr. Gold shuffled over to the sofa. "You seem oddly informed over my circumstances."

Henry followed him, sitting on the opposite side of the sofa and facing him, "Yeah, well. I  _do_ still have the book."

Gold's brows rose. "Book?"

"Yeah, you know.  _The_ Book." Henry leaned forward, as if sharing some kind of conspiracy, "The one with all the stories."

Something close to amusement flickered through Mr. Gold's eyes, and Henry felt a little bit of pride. People like Rumplestiltskin didn't need reassurance, they needed something to think about. Mom- Regina- was the same way sometimes. Emma too, now that he thought about it.

"You're Rumplestiltskin, you know." He offered matter-of-factly.

Mr. Gold's smile was still small, but it seemed more real, "And what makes you think that?"

"Your name is Mr.  _Gold._ " Henry deadpanned with all the severity that a ten year old could muster, "And he's in Belle's story."

The smile fell a little, "Is he now?"

Henry nodded, "Yeah! Her true love, kind of like Mary Margaret and David. But without all the affair stuff that I'm not supposed to know about."

Mr. Gold was quiet, and Henry noticed that when he went to drink from the thermos again he took a long, long sip. Guy was hitting the heavy stuff early, it seemed. Henry wouldn't be surprised if he had downed at least three of the marshmallows before letting them melt into the cocoa.

"It's got a happy ending," he offered diplomatically, pushing his own untouched mug over towards Gold's side. The old guy probably needed it more, plus he had some more packets hidden in his Star Wars lunchbox.

Mr. Gold stared at the mug, then at Henry, "Is that so?" His voice was quiet.

Henry smiled, "Yeah. They all do, eventually. But happy endings are usually the best when there's some problems before them. Why do you think everyone gets poisoned all the time?"

"Lack of foresight and ignorance of motives, most likely," Mr. Gold muttered.

Henry stared at him blankly.

"Or…perhaps for better happy endings," Mr. Gold offered though it didn't seem like he believed it at all.

The young prince huffed, "Hold on, I'll show you!"

Before Mr. Gold could offer any sort of opinion or protest, he was off again, racing for his temporary room. Gold saw the crushed hat resting on the end table across the living room, but wisely stayed seated. Henry returned, hugging a big, thick tome to his chest.

"Here," he said, jumping over the sofa's backrest and sitting next to him, "It's all in the stories, I told you."

"So you say," Mr. Gold indulged, feeling as if he couldn't move no matter how much he desired to.

"Duh," Henry muttered, flipping open to a dog-eared page. Gold winced.  _Dog-eared._ "This is it, look!"

Gold followed his finger to the page, and his eyes widened at its picture. A white and blue china teacup, its rim holding the slightest of chips. "Henry…"

"Told you~" he replied, grinning, "It's called Beauty and the Beast. I'm guessing you're the beast, since they also call him the Dark One. Which is also Rumplestiltskin. You know you're kind of a headache to figure out, right?"

Gold said nothing, his eyes still staring at the picture of the cup, drifting down to the drawing of a pretty young woman in a golden ball gown.

"You're in the sequel too, if you want to know," Henry pressed.

The man's eyebrows furrowed as he looked up, "Sequel?"

"Yeah. Peter Pan," Henry tilted his head with a frown, "Well,  _I_ know it's called Peter Pan. In here it's something different."

The name meant nothing to Gold, so his next question was more for indulging the boy than genuine curiosity, "And what do they call it in here?"

"Uhhhh…hold on, let me check," Gold had to stifle the protest as Henry flipped away from the page with Belle on it, skipping to the next chapter, "The Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up, I think. And something about the Lost Boys too." He turned the page, "Yeah, The Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up and His Lost Boys, see?"

Gold felt his breathing slow to a halt.

"But  _see_? That guy  _has_ to be Pan! He's fighting Captain Hook, after all," Henry continued, pointing to a small, dark-haired boy in the illustration and oblivious to Gold's complete stillness.

"That's not Pan," it was almost hard to hear him, even with Mr. Gold sitting so close.

Henry sighed, "Look, Mr. Gold, I know he's probably got a different name  _here_ , but I watched the Disney movie, like, twenty times, and-"

"Baelfire."

Henry stilled, looking at him in confusion, "What?"

"His name is Bae."

Judging from Mr. Gold's face, Henry was going to need to make some more cocoa. Stat.

**III**

Packing a suitcase wasn't hard, but Neal kept unpacking it and repacking it just to be safe. It was hard for a guy to sit still while waiting for something so…big to happen. And when a guy was going to meet the one that got away after over ten years of distance, a guy wondered if maybe he should go with a tan vest instead of a black one. Or if he should ditch the vest altogether. Or if he should shave. Again.

Or if she'd like the stack of non-serialized bills that were tucked in the corner of the suitcase. Emma was already proving herself to be a complicated woman and Neal was wondering how she managed that despite not being, you know, actually  _there._

He was midway in his third argument between white and off-white for the dress shirt when the unmistakable tune of "Charley's Girl" filled his apartment again.

" _It happened on New Year's Eve-"_

The guy hadn't gotten a phone call in two weeks, and now he was suddenly Mr. Popular. Still, the possibility of it being August was too much to pass up, and Neal lunged for it.

" _They said everybody had to leave-"_

Unknown number.

" _They had a warrant in their hand-"_

"Neal Cassidy."

A pause, and when the voice on the other end came through he had to fight the urge to roll his eyes and groan.

"Mr. Cassidy!  _So_ glad I caught you-"

"Listen, Mr. Beaman," Neal muttered, stalking over to the suitcase and taking out a few of the dress shirts that were previously in it, "I'm actually almost out the door-"

"This will only take a minute, Mr. Cassidy, I promise. You see, I happen to have heard a little bird saying that you're about to come into a rare piece and-"

"-and I won't be available for the weekend," Neal continued, not even listening. On some level, he knew smarting off to one of his high-spending clientele wasn't the savviest of moves, but hey, things were starting to get reprioritized around here.

"The money will be worth the extra work-"

"So just leave a message with Tina at the desk and she'll get back to you," Neal concluded, this time actually rolling his eyes.

"Mr. Cassidy I  _insist-_!"

Neal hung up the phone without much more ceremony, and tossed it on the top of his bed. Business. A regrettable part of growing up and going straight was working the nine to five and dealing with the more high-maintenance clients like Beaman. Still. It was worth it. It was  _going_ to be worth it. Because he had been saving up, and the timeshare he had invested in down in Tallahassee was about to kick in. And things were going to go  _right_  this time.

His eyes drifted to above the corner of his desk, the dream catcher from the motel still hanging there as it had for years.

That he should bring.

Neal unzipped his suitcase again. Fifth time was hopefully the charm.


	5. Lampwick

The wheel kept on spinning. It was somewhat monotonous, really, but she couldn't stop watching. The spokes blurred into one another, making a flat level as the top part- she never did know what it was called- bobbed up and down, thread curling from the tuft of wool.

Was it wool? She thought it was wool that was used, but there was something a little off with the texture. More brittle, yellow.

Well, whatever it was, it seemed to be a constant. She hadn't moved from her spot, hand hovering by the wheel with curiosity- wanting to reach out and grab the thread as it kept moving but being unable to. There was something here. Something she had to find, located in the repetitive whir of the machine.

Belle didn't remember why, only that it needed to be unraveled here, or the whole thing would be undone. She stared as the wheel continued to spin, the thing that wasn't wool traveling up, around and over, ending with a simple-

Shine?

She frowned. Wool, or other various spinning materials, did not  _shine._ The only thing that could shine like that was-

-something hit her in the face.

Belle woke, slowly and with much confusion. The sun was filtering in between some…what were they called again? Shades? And dancing across the pillow next to her, illuminating it in a way that made her try and remember her dream. There had been something…strange about it. But for all that she could try that something strange quickly became indefinable- drifting off into the sleepy haze where all the good dreams went when a person woke before they were ready. She pulled herself upright into a sitting position, surprised when a bundle of cloth-wrapped around something hardier- slid from her neck to her lap with the motion. Belle frowned, looking up to see August leaning in the doorway of the motel room. He had thrown this at her? Why?

Sending him a curious look, she pulled off the cloth- a shirt, she realized as it became unfolded with her touch and her mind pulled further and further out of the fog of sleep- revealing. Something. Bright orange, foam Somethings.

"What?" Hardly the most clever start, but Belle had only managed to get to sleep a few hours before the rude  _orange_ awakening had hit.

"I got you some clothes at the gas station," August stated, pushing off of the doorframe and making quick work of packing up the few belongings the pair had brought with them, "The dress is…nice, but it's not really practical for the motorcycle."

Belle stared at him, giving a small nod. It  _had_ been difficult to keep down with the wind blowing… "But what are  _these?_ " She picked up the foam strap at the end of each orange contraption and dangled them up in curiosity.

He grinned, and Belle once again felt herself at the butt end of a joke she didn't understand, "They're Crocs."

Belle turned them over, "Crocs?"

"You know, shoes. Slip-ons."

"These go on your  _feet_?"

"Don't look so afraid," August said in support, "They're not the most fashionable thing, but they're comfortable."

Belle held them away from her, nose wrinkling, "They look like Nurse Severity's slippers."

August tilted his head, "Friend of yours?"

She sobered instantly, recalling the echoes of the woman's voice, the announcements for her medicine time… "I suppose that's close enough, yeah."

"Well," August sat down on the bed opposite hers, close enough that their knees were almost touching but not close enough for Belle to feel skittish like she had the night before. She was used to physical contact, but the reassurance that came from the hug around her shoulders the night before was a foreign thing, almost as strange as the ungodly foam things in her hand, "On the plus side, no one's going to be seeing you in them. Here," he gestured for her to hand over the  _things._ Quickly, she did.

"They just," he kneeled down, slipping it over her foot, "Slide on. Nothing too painful about the process aside from the eyesore," he continued, putting the other one on. Belle wiggled her toes. They were a good size or two too big, but she had to admit they were a great deal more comfortable than the previous heels she had been wearing.

"…I suppose they're alright," she compromised. But her fascination with the…crocs, had to wait. Because they raised a bigger question, "Thank you for the clothes."

August rose an eyebrow, retreating to sit back on his own bed, "But?"

She bit her lip, looking down and trying to stare through the small holes that littered the tops of the shoes, "But why?"

August scratched as his cheek absently, "Figured we'd get to our destination faster if your ankle wasn't broken-"

"No, I mean.  _Why._ " Belle looked up, meeting the man's stare levelly. So much in the last few hours didn't make sense, this not being the least of it, "Why are you helping me?"

Silence reigned in the room for a few seconds before August gave a half-hearted grin. Belle hesitated to hear his answer. When one didn't answer fast, one had time to think about other replies then the truth.

"Think of it as a business arrangement, I guess. Or an adventure," there it was again, Belle noticed. That smile of his which never reached his eyes, "You like adventure, right?"

The question was a strange one, and Belle took her own time in answering, "I. I don't know, really." What  _was_ adventure, it was a question she had been wondering ever since she had woken up with her hand shackled to a cart, "I've…never really had the opportunity to experience one."

"Then why don't you just focus on that, for now," he said, standing up in a way that indicated the question was sufficiently answered. Belle felt something flare within her- it wasn't.

"Why is it such a hard question for you to answer?"

August hesitated, looking over his shoulder at her before he turned to focus on his own bag again. "Let's just say I'm trying to get in the black again."

Now this was making less and less sense. "The black?"

"It's an expression," he said in a way that made Belle think that perhaps there was a story behind his next few words, "A gambling expression. Red means you owe someone, black means you're in the positive."

She had no idea what gambling meant. But the concept seemed simple enough, "And I'm to help you do that? How?"

The zipper of his bag being done up made a hollow, empty noise.

Belle kicked off the covers, standing up, "August,  _how._ "

He sighed, "It's complicated."

She crossed her arms over her chest, "I can do complicated." She wasn't sure if she could, but like adventure, it seemed like a concept worth attempting.

August snorted, "Yeah, I'm sure you can." He paused, "There's a man, back where we came from. A very important man."

She rose her eyebrows, "I'm sure all places have at least one."

He sent her a bemused look, "Yeah, well this one has a grudge against me. And I'm going to need his help soon."

"Help? With what?"

August rolled his shoulders back, "It's compli-"

"-cated?" Belle finished with a wry grin. She was beginning to understand this man, a little.

"Yeah, that." August was quiet for a few moments, and Belle was definitely beginning to understand this man. The quiet meant thinking, and for him, thinking meant playing with the truth as she understood it, "He has some medicine for me, and the only way I think I'm going to get it is if I do him a favor."

Belle blinked, "…is that why we're going to New York?"

"Part of it." He stared at her for a second too long, and Belle felt her heart skip a few beats.

"This man…is he with the hospital?" Panic underlined her words, and she was relieved that his answer was quick this time.

"No. He's an…entrepreneur."

Her blood rate slowed she was sure. Her memory, or what she had of it, didn't consist of much, but the image of the dark, lightless cell and the endless days did not leave from it like everything else. "And you think taking me with you is going to help you get the. The medicine?"

August shrugged, "Maybe, but it's a start in the right direction."

"Why?"

She could tell from his suppressed groan that this was not a question he liked to hear, "Let's just say that everyone has at least one person important to them."

"And you think I might be that person?" It was such a bizarre leap of logic, Belle decided. She had been locked in the basement cell for as long as she could remember, and the only two who came to visit were Nurse Severity and the cold, dark woman. Sometimes, if only so she could assert that she still knew how to speak, she would talk to the man sweeping the floors, but those conversations had always been provided on one side instead of two and she doubted he had much sway in  _any_  arrangement.

"Yeah, I do."

Belle frowned, "I don't really like the thought of being used as," the frown deepened, "As something to trade."

August gave what could have been an apologetic look, "It's not a trade, exactly."

"Then what exactly is it?"

"Bringing you back home."

That final word made something twist in Belle's gut. It meant something to her once, that word. Something that resembled fireplaces and socks that wouldn't darn normally because they had been shoved into ridiculous boots time after time-

And like that thread that needed to be found, the thought had drifted away as quickly as it had arrived.

"And if I don't want to go back?" she asked quietly. Because wherever she was now, with all the strange noises and lights and  _machines_ , it was a far cry better than the occasional soup and telling stories to the darkness or to a sweeping man who couldn't quite hear them.

August was silent. Again. "Then it'll be your choice. If you want to go."

She wanted to believe that. But it was hard to believe a man who took too long to answer anything. Still. She had little else to go on for the moment, "And we're going to New York first."

"We're picking up an…old friend of mine," August said, "He lives on Coney Island."

The words, like so many other things about this place, didn't make an impression. But Belle could try pretending like she understood. She could try being brave.

"And he's coming back with us to this place?"

August nodded.

Belle was silent again. Truth be told, she still didn't understand why she was here, why she had woken up handcuffed to a cart, or how she had come to leave the hospital. But there had to be a reason for it. An explanation, somewhere. Maybe this Coney Island was a good place to start for it. A place to try out this… _adventure._

"If I decide to leave, I'll be able to?" She asked, deadly serious.

Her companion gave a short nod, "Cross my heart."

Belle wasn't sure why a person would cross a heart, but she suspected it was a statement of sincerity. "And you won't bring me back to the hospital?"

"No."

She nodded, "Alright. Then I'll go with you. For the trip."

August chuckled, "Then I suggest you get changed. A dress and crocs aren't what you wear to start an adventure."

Again with that word.

Belle was starting to like it.

"I guess that's a good start then," was all she offered, grabbing the sweats and t-shirt and heading towards the bathroom, enjoying the faint squeak the foam shoes made as she took each step.

**III**

The phone line went dead, and a slow grin spread on the man's face. That had certainly been an interesting conversation, one he hadn't been expecting. So the boys were back in the Big Apple, and naturally they were both holding out on him. Such a thing didn't really sit well. After all, it had been  _his_ money that had helped the gang get to Coney Island in the first place, all those years ago. Away from the foster parents and the system. And how do they repay him? By keeping certain collateral under the rug and not even phoning him to know they were visiting. Neal was even worse. The bastard had been living in the city for a few years now if Beaman was right.

Not. Very. Polite.

You hear a guy's trying to go legit in Canada…turns out they're smuggling art. Nice.

Freddie ran a hand through his red hair, looking at the small piece of paper with an address written down on it.

A house call might not be a bad idea, especially seeing as Neal was going to be taking a vacation soon.

**III**

The rest of the journey went by easily enough, and Belle was coming to find that she liked the sensation of riding on the back of the strange horse – _motorcycle,_ she corrected, _motorcycle_. The ground traveled so fast under their feet- it felt like flying. And being  _outside!_ It was incredible, the wind whipping through her hair and the feeling that she could actually breathe only paling in comparison to seeing the uninhibited sun. Sunlight at the cell had been a faint few lines on the ground. Sunlight here was blue skies, green leaves, and feeling  _warm._

The traveling passed in a companionable silence- Belle had quickly learned that conversation was impossible while the thing was roaring- and after a few hours the motorcycle began to slow, taking a turn off of the main road. The first time he had done this she had been relieved. The poor horse-machine had been carrying them nonstop for such a long amount of time it had almost begun to feel cruel, but August had patiently informed her that this was routine. That the machine was not sentient, that it did not tire. Belle wanted to believe him, but she still couldn't help the nagging suspicion of guilt. If it didn't tire, it wouldn't need fuel.

She knew the idea was ridiculous, but she couldn't shake it. A person couldn't get something for nothing-

_No dearie, it's hardly a "deal" if one side is doing all the taking-_

It was a machine. Just a machine.

Machines were fine by themselves.

The motorcycle came to a stop beside what August had called a pump, and the man kicked down a leg and the machine's roar came to a dull purr before vanishing entirely. Belle smiled, removing the helmet and stepping off. August had been right- sweats were far more convenient than the dress.

The rider turned around, stepping off as well, "So. We're about a half hour from the city."

"That's good, right?" Belle asked, a sting of guilt hitting her. She had not forgotten the maps.

"Yeah, it's just…" he looked up, as if deciding on how best to phrase the question, "It's a lot. Louder. Than out here."

"You mean…more people?" She asked, watching as August placed the nozzle into the motorcycle, the strange machine making an alarming beeping noise that caused her to wince.

"More people, more cars, more everything really." He turned to face her, "Are you sure you'll be able to handle it?"

Belle thought about the question. She had never been outside the hospital before yesterday, had never been on a motorcycle. Had never worn Crocs. It seemed like the last few days were meant to be rife with new experiences. And that wasn't a bad thing, because she had also never seen the sun, really. Or smiled. Or had coffee. Or…or  _talked_ to someone.

"I think so." She supplied honestly.

August stared at her for a few beats and she cringed. She hated it, being the subject of someone's attention. It reminded her of the slot on the door, the one that pulled back and revealed those eyes. It made her feel less than Belle, and more like patient 2.

"If it's too much, just let me know."

And there it was again. That caution. The one that made her feel like she was actually as dangerous as they had said she was. Belle didn't  _feel_ dangerous. And she certainly didn't feel like it was all too much. It might've been, but she was stubborn. And free for the first time in forever-

_It's forever, dearie._

Belle scowled. She hated that. The way those words would surface even though she didn't know them.  _They_ were the reason she was locked away in the first place. Best to ignore them, as Nurse Severity had instructed countless of times. Ignore them and they go away.

"Belle?"

The voice broke through her thoughts and she mustered a fake smile. "I think I'm going to go sit down, for a second," she said, gesturing towards a few picnic benches to the side of the building.  _Station._ It was a station.

"That's fine, I have a phone call to make anyways." August said, "Five minutes?"

She nodded, not waiting for an answer as she walked towards the resting area.

Belle didn't know what to make of this man. Or this place. Or anything. Walking to the tables, she offered a small smile at the only other occupant- a boy, clad head to toe in some bizarre yellow outfit- and sat on the bench. She closed her eyes, leaning her head back and-

"Hey lady, I like your shoes!" The voice of a boy cut through the silence and Belle blinked, sitting up again.

The boy in the yellow shirt smiled at her earnestly, waving, "They're orange. Which is a good thing to wear because it's deer season."

"Deer season?" She asked, unsure of what that meant.

"Yeah, it's a dangerous time and all people should wear something orange if they're walking in the woods," he leaned forward conspiratorially, "So they don't get shot."

"Oh!" Belle said, realization dawning on her, "Like hunting?" Hunting she knew.

The boy frowned at her, "Where  _else_ are people afraid of getting shot?"

Having no real answer, Belle merely shrugged, "I, um. I don't get out much."

Not asking for an invite, the boy moved to set next to her, his chubby, short legs kicking out as he fished in his pockets or something. "I didn't use to either, because I live in the city and deer would get hit by cars a lot if they went there. And all the other wildlife. Except the ones at the zoo- I saw a macaw there once. It was huge!"

Nothing he said was making any sense whatsoever to her, so she only nodded. Until it clicked, "The city? As in…" What had it been called again, "Cooney Island?"

The boy frowned, his face screwing into the picture of intense scrutiny, "No, I don't think so. I've been to Coney Island though. Phyllis took me for a day and we went around the tilt-o-whirl a few times. It was pretty great." He paused, "Dad wanted to come, but he had to go on this mega super important business trip."

Belle was beginning to wonder if this was what she was to expect upon arriving in the city. But he seemed nice enough, and she was hardly one to begrudge someone for a little peculiarity, "Is it nice there?"

"It's okay. I like camping better though. Once we got to do it in the planetarium at school! It was awesome- we had sleeping bags out and everything," he paused, "Oh yeah I forgot to let you know- I'm a Wilderness Explorer."

Belle, having no idea what that meant, only widened her eyes in what she hoped was a manner that conveyed she was impressed, "That sounds dangerous."

"Yeah, well. A Wilderness Explorer has to be ready for danger at all times and to be properly prepared with safety equipment for all situations." He was so matter-of-fact about it that Belle was beginning to wonder if this was some sacred group for younger children.

"Are you taking a trip for them then?"

He beamed, "Yeah! I'm trying to get my forty-third badge by going bird watching. If I get the horn-crested sparrow I have seventy three out of the eighty four that you need to get certified as a Junior Eagle bird-watcher." He leaned low with his hand placed over his mouth. Belle stared at him for a few moments before he sighed and jerked his head lower, implying that she should do the same. Confused, Belle obeyed, tilting her head down so the boy could whisper, "Between you and me, I think they put the grizzled-snouted snipe on there to confuse people."

Belle smiled in a manner that was equally conspiring, "It certainly sounds that way. And what will you do when you become a Junior Eagle?"

The boy smiled a mile wide, "I only need one more badge and then I get to go to this big ceremony!"

She folded her legs under her, "Like a knighting?" She wasn't sure where she had heard that term before, but it seemed to fit.

"Uh, I think so." His smile became a little smaller then, and he began to fiddle with the loose pockets of his shorts, "Everyone's gonna come. Because all the dads pin badges on their sons during it," he perked up, "Then afterwards there's pie!"

It was then that Belle realized this cheerful little boy was without a parent. She looked around, thinking she'd see someone approaching. But the small little lot beside the building- _station_ \- was quiet. Just the two of them. But…maybe that was normal? Even for one so small?

Belle wasn't sure what having parents would be like. Somewhere, on the edges of her mind, she could imagine it, maybe. A big, strong man…possibly with a beard. Maybe a pipe. Always a smile, though. And as far as mothers went…that seemed even further over the edge beside.

"I'm sure no one could resist that," she offered genuinely, hoping that the boy being alone was in the realm of normal here. Outside.

"Yeah it's got…y'know. The crumb. Things. It's good, last year I ate like five slices."

"Five?"

A shy look as he twiddled his thumbs, "I'm still growing."

Maybe it was how earnest he was. Or maybe it was the talk about badges and sparrow whatsists. Maybe it was early hysteria. But something foreign bubbled up in Belle's throat at the statement. Bubbled up and spilled out before she could stop herself.

She laughed.

And kept laughing.

And maybe it was a little too much because the boy was starting to scoot down the bench. "Hey, lady, you okay?"

Belle didn't know what to say, as she kept laughing and slowly wiped the back of her hand across her cheek bones. Joyful tears were starting to streak down her face. Maybe it was because she was out of the basement. Out in the sunlight where little boys could talk about eating lots of pie and wear yellow shorts and there was something called Crocs that went on feet.

"Belle?"

That wasn't the little boy. She turned, offering a watery smile to August as he walked over towards the pair. A wary look was on his face as he turned to the boy.

"What's wrong with her?" the boy whispered in a manner that Belle was sure was supposed to be secretive between the two of them, but only seemed to make it louder.

"I-I'm sorry," and she was, really. But sorry wasn't going to make the laughing or the tears or this strange, strange feeling stop.

"She doesn't get out much," August offered, himself keeping his distance as if she had been replaced by a ticking time bomb.

"Oh." The boy was staring at her now, eyes unblinking as a finger went to experimentally poke her thigh, "Should we…stop it?"

She shook a hand in protest, willing herself to get the laugh under control. "I-I'm fine-! Really-!"

August was still wary as he spoke, "We should probably get going."

Belle could only nod, taking in a deep, shuddering breath. Finally, she was beginning to realize what that strange feeling might have been.

Relief. Maybe.

Or something like it.

She forced herself to still, and she smiled at the boy apologetically, "I'm sorry for…that. It's just, I." She fidgeted with the edge of her shirt, not unlike how the boy had fidgeted with his thumbs moments before, "I haven't heard a joke in a very long time."

The boy's suspicions were immediately placed aside, "Really? I have more! Better ones!"

Her smile grew, "I'd love to hear them-"

"Belle." August's tone held warning, and Belle felt her smile drop slightly. He was right. They had places to go.

"Oh, right. Sorry," she winced. She was saying that word a lot lately. "I guess I'll have to hear them another time."

The boy looked crestfallen for a moment, but perked up again. Belle wondered how he did it, "Sure! I have a Wilderness Explorer email if you want!" He withdrew a notebook from his pants' pocket, "I can send you, like, five a day!" He brightened, "Maybe I can even get the penpal badge for it!"

"That sounds lovely," Belle blinked, "What's an emale?"

The boy rolled his eyes, "Very funny," he scribbled something down on the notebook paper and handed it to her, "Here. Just send me yours and I can send you all the funnies from those popsicle sticks and stuff."

She held it like she would a puzzle box, staring at the words she couldn't read. She felt a wave of frustration hit her again, but she knew it wasn't fair to take it out on him, "Thank you." Belle sent August a questioning look.

He gave an actual smile, "I'll explain it later." He shifted, looking up at the sky, "But we had better leave now."

"Alright," Belle gave one last smile to the boy, "It was nice to meet you. What's your name?"

The boy returned it easily, "Russell! And make sure you send me yours, okay? If you thought that was funny wait until I tell you the one about the cheetah-"

"Cheetah?"

August groaned, "I guess I'm explaining that one too," he offered a hand for Belle and she took it, standing up.

"My name's Belle," she offered. It was really the only thing she had in exchange.

"Cool, like that one movie!"

"…movie?"

"You know, Beauty and the-" Russell frowned, "Uh, wait. That's not it. Cinderella? No…"

"Bye Russell," August said pointedly, steering Belle away from the table. She gave an enthusiastic wave from over her shoulder. Russell waved back.

"Bye Belle! Make sure you send me at least ten emails or it doesn't count for the badge!"

The man shook his head as tossed Belle the hat- _helmet_ , it was a helmet. "Making friends already, huh?"

She caught it with only two bobbles instead of the customary three, hands tracing over it.

"Yes, I. I guess I did, didn't I?"

August stilled, "Not very popular back home?"

Belle bit her lower lip and slowly shook her head, "I've…never had one before. A friend, that is."

The silence stretched between them and August just looked at her for a few seconds. "Well now you have two. Hop on, we're probably going to be late."

Belle didn't say anything, only tucking the paper safely in her pocket before strapping on the helmet, feeling all sorts of curious as to what a cheetah was, and not being able to resist smiling at the man driving the motorcycle.

Friend. Now that was something new.

**III**

The corndog was shoved into the mustard with gusto, and Neal savagely chomped down on the end of it after bringing it to his mouth. His eyes scanned the pier of the south part of Coney Island- near the tilt-a-whirl- before flickering down to his wristwatch. They were late.

And he was being followed.

A thief didn't stay out of jail by ignoring his gut, and Neal wasn't about to start now. Someone had been tailing him since the Bozo ride, someone who didn't even have the grace to make it seem like a coincidence. To Neal, that meant one of two things. Either the guy was an amateur, which would be a big plus one, or he was a fed. Negative five.

His eyes darted across the pier where the guy sat, happily eating a huge thing of cotton candy. It didn't seem like something a fed would do. But there was something weird about the dark-haired man that had been tailing him the last few blocks, only stopping when Neal did to get a corndog.

And to wait for August.

He looked at his watch again. Who was still late.

Neal took another bite of his corndog, slower this time as he kept his eyes focused on the man eating the cotton candy. His back was to him, but that didn't make him any less recognizable. His free hand drifted down to the handle of his suitcase, clutching it tightly.

"C'mon," he muttered. He didn't like this. First a cotton-candy inhaling guy was tailing him, and now his ride was late. Later. Latest. Whatever. He wanted out of here as quickly as possible.

The instructions had been simple enough, hadn't they? Originally he was going to meet the guy at his apartment, but that had been changed when he got a text message earlier. That alone wasn't helping Neal's flight or flight faster response mechanisms. Changed plans were not a good thing for a thief. Former thief.

Whatever.

He ran a hand through his hair, swearing to his luck when he looked down and noticed his suitcase was missing.

His heart skipped a beat, and Neal glanced up immediately to where the cotton-candy inhaling fed was sitting.

He was gone.

With his suitcase.

His suitcase with the dreamcatcher.

" _Shit,_ " Neal swore, dropping the corndog and searching the crowd for that guy's stupid head. The crowds at Coney were thinner than usual, probably due to the overcast, and Neal was thankful for it as he saw that flicker of blue the same shade as the guy's shirt.

Got him.

Not even thinking, which was something Neal was going to kick himself for later, he took off after the thief. While the irony was not escaping him, he wasn't really in the mood to reflect upon it either.

"HEY!" He shouted, pausing at the last moment from screaming out a 'GIVE ME BACK MY DREAMCATCHER' when he mentally realized just how ridiculous that sounded.

The blue-shirted, candy-inhaling, amazingly fast thief only paused in his step for a moment, but it was enough for Neal to jump over a bench and chase after him down the pier.

Seeing that he was being chased, the thief tucked the suitcase- okay, satchel, whatever- under his arm and took off further down the pier. Neal swore, dodging in between the kids and their parents as he tore his way through, knocking into a few Conies on his way. His high-speed chase skills were a little rusty, after all.

"GET BACK HERE!" He swore, jumping over another bench as the thief pulled further and further ahead of him. How many benches were there on this damn thing, anyways?

Two more, apparently. By the time Neal got to the end of the pier he was going to have to attempt that track and field record that had eluded him in high school.

He watched as the man tore down a side alleyway. And Neal had just enough time to feel bombarded with both cliché and déjà vu as he headed in after him.

The alleyway was empty. Typical.

And dark.

Also typical.

Neal scowled, panting heavy as he tried to catch his breath, hands hovering over his knees as he bent over from exertion. Damn benches.

"Look, I don't want any trouble from the cops, believe me, but I'll call them if you don't give me back the satchel and we'll both be sorry for it."

Silence was his only answer, but Neal had that gut feeling again. The one that told him he wasn't alone.

"Well? What's it gonna be?"

"I think it's going to be a lot less  _complicated_ than that," came a voice that Neal vaguely pegged as familiar. He squinted, looking down the alley.

Sure enough, a lone figure was walking towards him.

A lone figure wearing a red hat.

A lone figure that Neal  _knew_ couldn't have climbed that many damned benches that fast.

"Looking for me?" Came a voice to his side, and Neal turned. There he was. The cotton candy man grinned devilishly at him from his spot perched on the fire escape.

Fire escape. Why didn't he ever think of that?

Neal licked his lips. He had a suspicion about where this was going and he didn't like where it led him, "Just. Give me the damn bag."

"No can do, my friend," cotton-candy leapt to the ground, satchel tucked securely under his arm, "Finder's keepers."

Neal's dark eyes darted back to the red-hatted figure that was now within clear viewing distance. And he swore. His suspicions had led to the right place, unfortunately.

"What's this about, Smee?"

The portly man grinned, "Oh, so you  _do_ remember. That's nice." He looked to the cotton-candy man, "Isn't that nice Gene?"

"As nice as nice can be,"  _Gene_ replied smoothly.

"Unfortunately, I go by another name in this part of the world," Smee took a few steps towards Gene, easily catching the satchel when the latter tossed it at him. "Mr. Cassady, you _really_ should take more time when talking to your clients."

Neal's eyes widened, "Beaman-"

And then they closed as something was pressed against his mouth and under his nose. Neal inhaled, then sagged down onto his knees. He found he couldn't support his weight for some reason.

As Neal felt consciousness flee, his last thought was that of course he had managed to be kidnapped by pirates just hours before he got back to Emma.

Al stood behind him, holding the rag of chloroform and sighing guiltily as the "art dealer" collapsed. "Why are we doing this again?"

Smee only grinned as he flipped open the top of the satchel, pulling out the dreamcatcher.

"Because, as I've said, I'm a procurer of very rare things."

**III**

Belle looked around the empty apartment, taking a few hesitant steps in again.

"We were supposed to meet him here?" She asked quietly. No one was here.

August frowned, and Belle couldn't help but notice the agitated quality to him, "That's what I said when I called him."

Clothes were strewn all over the place, as if someone had left in a hurry.

Belle walked over to the desk, hands trailing over the wood in a small amount of anxiety. "Is he…do you think he's alright? Your friend?"

August's frown only grew deeper. When they had buzzed- Belle thought that was what it was called- the apartment only to get silence, they had climbed up a ladder…fire escape, until they got to his window. Which had been open, something Belle felt was strange. Today was the day for strangeness, it seemed.

"I don't know," he muttered at last, walking around and surveying the things that his friend had left strewn out for the hundredth time, as if seeing them would lead to new clues. Something he had missed. But there was nothing new to be found, and Belle decided she could sympathize with him.

Her eyes darted around again, back to the desk. There were all sorts of strange knick-knacks scattered about the apartment, but her eyes kept getting drawn back to the desk and what was on it.

Books, and papers. And a few scattered pens. Naturally none of it made much sense to her, but she couldn't stop being drawn back to it nonetheless. One thing, in particular, kept getting her attention and she grabbed the small, thick piece of paper.

On the back there appeared to be one word, but that didn't do much good for her and so she flipped it over. On the other side was a picture of a clock tower, one she knew didn't change its time for some reason…

"Sneaking into locked doors with pretty women? Not much has changed, has it August?"

The sound of a new voice made Belle start, dropping the picture back onto the desk. Quickly, she turned around.

There was a man leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and a snide grin on his face. He wasn't old, looking about the same age as August, with bright red hair and the slightest of buck teeth. He was dressed in a suit, and something about the way he was grinning at her gave Belle pause.

"Who are you?" She asked, looking to her companion.

August appeared to have stopped breathing.

The man snorted, pushing himself away from the doorway, "He hasn't mentioned me? I'm  _hurt,_ " the red-haired man clucked his tongue as he walked closer to the two of them, "Name's Fred Lampwick, but you can call me Freddie if you'd like." He waggled his brows.

Belle frowned, backing into the desk slightly. "August is this who we're supposed to meet?"

Something seemed to snap August out of his self-induced haze, and he scowled at the new arrival, "Lampwick? What are you doing here?"

"A guy can't stop by an old pal's house? C'mon now, August. I know your time  _writing_ hasn't wedged a stick  _that_ far up your-"

"Where's Neal."

Belle tensed, looking to August. His tone had been a lot shorter than what she was accustomed to. And this Lampwick made something twist in her gut.

Said gut twister smirked, "With Beaman."

The silence suddenly became palpable.

"Beaman?" August asked cautiously, knowing he knew the answer anyways.

"Our good pal Smee-" Belle felt something  _tug_ at the name, but like the wheel, there was nothing she could do with it, "-has taken him on a vacation of sorts."

"What do you want, Lampwick?" August snarled.

"Now you care," Lampwick made an exaggerated, false yawn. "Honestly? I want money. But Smee thinks the only way to do that, for reasons I can't fathom, is to go through you."

"Me?" August echoed.

"That's right, Smee says he's getting a high price to bring back some artifacts to a  _very_ rich customer. And Neal knows where they are."

Belle felt strange, for reasons she couldn't decipher, but she asked the question anyways, "What artifacts are those?"

Lampwick stared at her and smirked, "Just a bean," he turned to face August, "A regular old bean."

"And?" Belle pressed, knowing that this was important, somehow.

The red-head shrugged, "A knife."

That gut-twisting sensation was back, "That's it?"

"No, I guess it's not. A dagger, to be more precise." Lampwick took a step towards August, "A very old, very sharp  _dagger._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the kudos/subscribers/bookmarks!
> 
> Next Up: Who the hell is Lampwick, Neal is not pleased with being the damsel in distress, and Belle continues to wear Crocs.


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